


Child of Order, Child of Sin

by emblem_oracle



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: M/M, Mourning, Resurrection, friend vs friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 10:41:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8575183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emblem_oracle/pseuds/emblem_oracle
Summary: Soren's dark eyes reminded him of the twilight; too devoid of life and feeling. The mage placed his fingers between the pages of his tome."In the name of the Goddess desist or face her judgement by my hand."The voice was his but the words weren't. Ike cursed the Goddess for making a puppet out of his friend.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Nobody else is producing Ike/Soren content at the speed I desire. Sorry to all you poor souls who have to put up with my spamming. This is also the longest single piece I have written... yay to me, I guess.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy the story that follows!

Blood dyed the snow as he fell, a thin line across his neck. His white robes, already stained, bled further. Crimson eyes watched the skies but Soren truly saw nothing, his tome discarded somewhere beneath the blanket of white. Pale already in nature, Soren's skin began to turn deathly blue as his body accepted its fate without him.

There were no final words; merely a grunt and a fall. Yet, it held such finality.

A soldier in golden armour glanced at his bloodied weapon with a frown of acknowledgement but nothing more. "The Goddess' will is righteous! All heretics will face her—"

Another flash of gold and the soldier stopped; eyes wide. Blood dripped down his chest and pattered into the white blanket, almost upon Soren's hair. Ike wasn't paying attention long enough to watch him fall.

 _"_ _Mist!"_ Ike's voice rattled with shock but his hands were a practiced steady, learned from many years on the frontlines. He placed his hands on Soren's neck in an attempt to stem the bleeding. _"_ _Mist, get over here now!"_

The blood flow was too fast to be contained by his hands. Ike shook the mage's shoulder. The movement pushed Soren's limp body onto his back but he otherwise remained still. Snow clung to his hair in clumps and Ike resisted the urge to brush it away.

Inside, his mind screamed _'You shouldn't have asked him to go so far forward alone.'_

Ike dismissed it as unhelpful.

_Flashes of gold and a splatter of blood; a cry cut short._

"Come on, Soren," Ike urged, watching Soren's dead eyes intently for a blink, a shift, _something_. "Damn it, Soren! Why didn't you watch you back?"

Snow crunched behind him and Ike growled, moving his bloodied hand to rest on Ragnell's hilt. If Soren was attacked now he would definitely be…

"I'm here!" Mist jumped off her horse. Ike did not allow himself to relax or even acknowledge her, eyes transfixed upon blank scarlet eyes.

"Mist, he needs—"

A chocked sound escaped his sister, the forming sobs not lost on Ike.

"Oh Gods, no… Soren…" The words sounded distant to Ike's ears. The blood flow was slowing now yet it still felt warm. Warm with life. "Brother I… he…"

"He's not gone. Not after everything."

"Ike, his throat—"

Soren's blood was on his hands, spilling through his fingers and onto his sleeves. Yet, he still clung to the hope that Soren's eyes would blink and then he would breathe again.

Mist collapsed to her knees, hugging his shoulder as her tears ran down her nose. Ike continued to watch, waiting for a sign that this was all just a product of his shock at seeing the mage so lifeless. But with each passing second his grip on that hope was failing. Soren's eyes kept staring at the skies, his lungs still within his chest. Harsh wind scattered his hair.

Mist reached over and wrapped her fingers around Ike's wrists. Her touch was warm despite the cold weather; nothing like Soren's skin at all.

And then the shock passed and the realisation sank in and the world felt like it might as well have been burning.

"Brother… I'm so, so sorry."

The burn in his chest spread, stealing his breath away. Slowly – like his hands were a part of the mage now - his hands drew away, red stains dying his palms. Soren didn't acknowledge him; he didn't acknowledge anything.

And he wouldn't ever again.

Mist sobbed, her distressed cries echoing across the battlefield. Soon, their companions would know.

Instead of scream in anguish, Ike rested his cheek upon his sister's hair; revelling in the warmth she offered as he stared at what remained of his closest companion.

* * *

In the hours after the battle, Ike had time to regret. He sat down besides the campfire and watched it burn.

_Blood dripping onto the snow, a blank stare._

Maybe it was shock or guilt for having survived. Whatever the reason, the memories played over and over in a constant repetition in his mind; haunting his sleep and devouring his waking hours. It reminded him of the time after his father died, where he only truly earned a reprieve from the nightmares when the Black Knight was slain.

Soren was buried under a blanket of snow and dirt at the camp's edge. The grave was shallow and Ike begrudged that the location was so outlandish. The idea of burning him had arisen but it was decided that chopping the trees required would take too long to prepare and they could not waste more time. Ashera yet remained in her tower.

Ike's gut twisted. It disgusted him that burying the mage was considered such a waste of hours. Yet with the world in a dire situation, they couldn't stop for anything.

Even for Soren.

"I'm sorry this couldn't have been better," Ike said absently. The sides of his mouth were beginning to crease from frowning but that was the least of his worries. "After we win we'll cremate you. That's what mages usually prefer, right?"

He didn't really know why that was. Soren had mentioned once that it helped them to join the spirits they had employed, or something like that.

He imagined raven hair and scarlet eyes, a half-smile across his face.

Soren was not the first but Ike didn't know why the mage's loss felt so different from the rest.

Maybe it was because he'd always been a constant presence, ever since he'd shown up at the fort with loose robes and a thick church accent. Maybe it was the reliance they'd had on each other; Ike had needed guidance and Soren needed companionship. They had offered each other completion. Together, they had made each other better.

But now that Soren was gone, Ike couldn't help feeling that he'd lost something important. Something more vital than a simple friend. What that was, Ike didn't know, and he wouldn't let himself ponder it too much.

He needed to focus. 

Ike gripped his bandanna in his hand, the cloth warm with body heat. He could feel the blood on his hands still.

"I will make her pay for what she's done."

Ike stabbed a stick into the ground and placed his bandanna upon it as a sort of grave marker. Picking himself up, he nodded towards the grave and prepared himself to fight on for yet another lost life.

* * *

It took several days to reach the capital.

Trudging through heavy snow, Ike sighed as the cold nipped at his neck. The snow was built up to his mid-calf and he had lost his boots enough times that he had considered just removing them and being done with it.

Ike watched as Rolf tripped, falling into the cold blanket. Ike forced himself through the snow and grabbed the archer by his arm, yanking him out in one swift motion.

Rolf brushed the ice out of his hair, looking somewhat surprised that it was Ike who had saved him. "Thanks," he murmured. Boyd, who would normally find such a thing hysterical, merely offered the briefest of smiles.

"Come on, kid," he said, taking his brother by the arm. With a grunt, he lifted Rolf up onto his back and the boy wrapped his arms around his neck. Once he was in position, Rolf sighed and rested his chin on Boyd's shoulder as the elder began to trudge through the snow anew.

Ike watched the brothers with slight interest, staring at them as the walked on. So focussed was he that he didn't notice the horse until it was stood besides him. Ike noted the crimson armour as Titania cast down her hand. "Hop up."

"I'm fine walking."

"You haven't taken a break since we left camp. If you continue like this, you'll exhaust yourself."

"I can't sit still. Walking is a good distraction."

Titania sighed, mouth set in contemplation. She had been especially kind to him since and Ike knew that. Still, the pitying glances only served to sour his already low mood. 

For a moment, Ike thought she was going to drop the matter.

Then: "Soren used to tell you the same things. _'The reports need to be done more than I need sleep.' 'My books provide more entertainment than nattering soldiers.'_ Yet, every time, you would ask until he took proper care of himself."

Ike felt his jaw set, the burning sensation returning to his chest but he was quick to force it down. He breathed harshly through his nose, steam surrounding his face. "Alright, fine. But only for a short while."

"That's all I am asking."

The world seemed a lot higher upon Titania's horse. As a general rule, Ike avoided horses when he could. While Mist had achieved mastery in mounted combat, something about the animals just disagreed with him. He'd been thrown one too many times to ever consider taking up the role of cavalier.

Yet Titania was able to encourage her horse through knee-high snow without even having to murmur a word.

As the horse began to walk again, the paladin spoke. "How are you feeling, Ike?"

"I'm managing, in my own way."

"You haven't talked about him since the burial." Titania's horse began to slow but she nudged him to pick up the pace.

"Now is not the time to mourn. I must focus on defeating Ashera more than anything else."

"You say that like its easy."

"It's not," Ike admitted. The snow was finally beginning to thin now. He could tell from the way it lessened against the gelding's legs. "Having a goal to work towards helps keep my mind off things. It worked when Father died."

"Soren was not your father."

Ike's jaw set again. Something about referring to Soren in the past tense just didn't sit well with him. "No," Ike agreed. "He wasn't."

Soren was something quite different.

Titania gave him a sympathetic glance and it just made his stomach plummet. She looked like she wanted to say more but Ike found he did not want to hear it. "I'll grieve when we win. Thanks for the chance to rest."

"Ike—"

But Ike had already jumped back into the snow.

* * *

No matter how many he slaughtered, they rose again and again. Clad in gold and strengthened by the Goddess, the Order was difficult to take down but it was even harder to keep them there. Again and again soulless bodies rose, spouting zealot nonsense. Again and again, they were pushed back to the ground, only for the cycle to continue.

Tormod and Calill were in high demand as it was found that burning bodies kept them down for longer periods. They zipped around the battlefield; setting bodies ablaze until the soldier's metal armour were beginning to melt from the heat.

"We must continue inside," Yune said over the cries of combat. "Ashera is such a stubborn sister. This could go on until you meatlings are walking on three legs instead of two."

"Alright," Ike said. There was a crack of branches and a soldier charged, lance held high above their head. Ike, however, was too well-versed on the battlefield to be taken unawares. He thrusted forward with his sword, blood splattering across his cheek. The soldier tumbled backwards with a gaping hole punched through their gut.

"Who would you suggest we bring?"

After the group was divided, Ike was left to prepare himself for what lay beyond. However, preparations were difficult when the Order continued to attack as they sorted through gear. Aimee zipped out from her tent, vulneraries and a physic staff rattling in her arms. Her eyes fell on him and she rushed forward, handing him a concoction.

"Good luck, my dear," she smiled before she continued on her way, ducking between axes and stray arrows. For once, she offered no flirtatious words.

"Do you think we will win, Brother?" Mist's eyes flickered nervously over the Order soldiers. Boyd surrounded himself with a flurry of blades; tossing enemies across the field like they weighed nothing. His headband was noticeably missing from his forehead.

"We have to," Ike said simply. "We have too much to lose."

Mist frowned, her eyes still lingering on the emerald-haired man. She ran her hand up to her wrist, gripping something secured across it.

"You ready?" Mist asked. She turned to face the door, her palm falling to her side.

"As I'll ever be."

* * *

 The air was still, echoes of stray draft absent; an admirable feat since the tower had been standing tall for so many years.

The moment the doors closed, the only sound became the group as they navigated the tower. Ike suddenly took note of how loud his breathing was and the clash of armour as he walked. It was hard not to feel like an intruder in such silence.

"Ashera is at the top," Yune said, seeming oddly sombre.

Ike glanced up at the spiralling staircases "How many floors are there?"

"Ten," Yune said. "But I doubt Ashera has placed soldiers on every floor."

Yune was right. The group passed through multiple floors before being pulled into a battle. First Duke Lekain was slain and his contract torn. Then the Black Knight appeared.

Ike appreciated the opportunity to send one of his enemies into the ground. Yet, it was as he was staring down at Zelgius' battered armour that he remembered.

What his father had done. How his mother had died by the sword he now held.

But what was more distressing was the image of a raven-haired boy, skeletal and dirty against the roots of a tree.

Memories long forgotten of those he had lost.

It took everything he had to remain focussed; to turn his anger and his grief into determination. Yune patted his shoulder sympathetically, offering a, "There, there little beorc." Ike felt more patronised than comforted.

By the time Deghinsea was slain and Kurthnaga left to mourn, Ike was beginning to get sick of it all.

"We are nearly at the end now," Yune announced, beaming despite the poor mood. "You creatures have done very well. Just two more floors from here."

Ike nodded, following the Goddess up the staircase. He had travelled up them enough that he no longer felt the temptation to look down into the abyss below.

The staircases offered him much opportunity to think about life after the war. He had thought about it before, back when his companion was still at his side. Back then, he had been considering going on a journey with the mage.

Now, though, that was hardly possible.

 _'I will need to cremate him,'_ he thought distantly as they continued up and up _. 'And make sure the mercenaries are set before anything else… after that, I will go.'_

Suddenly, there was a pitched scream and Ike snapped from his thoughts. Tightening his grip on Ragnell, Ike turned quickly on his heel before anyone could even think to arm themselves.

Mist let out another hoarse scream, clinging to her mare's mane as she reared up. Magic swarmed his sister, sending her horse into a wild panic. Suddenly, everyone seemed aware of how big the drop was.

A lone mage, covered head to toe in golden clothing, stood at the base of the stairwell, perhaps a remnant of one of the earlier floors. Ike felt harsh leather against his fingers as he grabbed Mist's horse by the reins, giving the girl the opportunity to recover her control on the mount.

"Ike, he-he-" Mist breathed but she was in too much of a panic to get her words out. Ike was barely listening. Wind whistled past and sliced his cheek, leaving blood dripping down his face like a tear.

"All trespassers are enemies of the goddess," the mage mumbled. He hugged his tome to his chest, preparing to cast again. "I cannot allow you further."

Pushing through soldiers, Ike didn't stop to prepare. With his sister so defenceless, there was no time. He shifted the grip of Ragnell until it felt comfortable in his hand. He drew close with impressive speed, sword raised to strike. The mage prepared his spell.

"Ike, don't! It's Soren!"

He was so close to the mage that his sister's warning was almost for naught. Yet, he had already spied the swirl of the Branded mark and the crimson eyes.

Ike's suddenly found his breath taken away from him. He quickly drew to a stop, feet sliding across the marble. Behind him some soldiers gasped but nobody moved.

_"Soren?!"_

Soren tilted his head, his golden hood almost completely concealing his hair. Seeing Soren in such bright clothes was odd but everything else was the same. From his ruby eyes to his solemn expressions. His hair was tied back in his signature style, chosen due to its practicality.

Ike was almost tempted to reach out, to affirm this wasn't just something his mind was conjuring. Yet, he didn't. Even in his shock, he knew this wasn't right; the golden clothes hinted at that. Soren was definitely dead.

He saw him die. He was the indirect cause. Ike was hopeful but he was not so stupid as to fall for such an easy trap.

Glancing down at Soren's neck he saw the line drawn across there. Ike's eyes narrowed and suddenly he saw everything. The cracks on the mage's lips, the unusual colour of his temples.

"No, you can't be," he said, frowning. He tightened his grip on his sword. Soren watched him as he tensed. "That isn't—"

Suddenly, a blast of wind hit him full force, knocking the air from his lungs and almost toppling him over the edge. Ike grabbed at his chest.

That was confirmation enough.

Soren's dark eyes reminded him of the twilight; too devoid of life and feeling. The mage placed his fingers between the pages of his tome.

"In the name of the Goddess desist or face her judgement by my hand."

The voice was his but the words weren't. Ike cursed the Goddess for making a puppet out of his friend.

Another ball of wind magic hurtled his way. Ike ducked and it sailed over his head, crashing into the steps. The stairs were too narrow to fight properly upon without risking the edge.

"Head upstairs," Ike called; wind magic buzzing all around him. "He gets one good hit in and you're dead. Head up!"

They do so but it's with reluctance. Mist looks tempted to stay but her horse is too jittery to allow for it. Oddly enough, Soren doesn't attempt to stop them. He merely continues to throw blasts of wind in his direction.

"You let them go. Why?"

It's just the two of them now, surrounded by the quiet of the tower. Soren's face is forced into a constant frown. "My Goddess has more cards to play. You are more of a threat to her safety than them, heretic."

"You underestimate my allies."

"You underestimate Holy Ashera." Whatever allure Ragnell held was now lost upon the mage and his scarlet eyes snapped up, the colour dull. "Arrogant beorc boy! I will teach you what it means to defy powers greater than your own."

Ike scowled as Soren prepared a spell, surrounding himself with torrent wind and green whips.

 _'It's not him,'_ he thinks as he lifts Ragnell high. _'This is just his body.'_

He cringed as his blade sliced across the mage's arm, drawing a sharp hiss from the man. Continuing upon his momentum, Ike raised his sword and struck again – sword dug deep into his shoulder. Ike fought back the voice that told him how wrong this was, lest he be put off.

Sword still partially embedded within his shoulder, Soren raised his uninjured arm and whispered a spell. The wind cracked against Ike's face, his eyes blurring with white hot pain as he felt his nose break. He continued on despite the pain. He grabbed the mage by the neck, wrapping his forearm across his throat.

The Goddess had done nothing to remedy Soren's pitiful strength, luckily. The moment he was grabbed, he had lost. The fight had been pitifully easy.

Soren's body felt cool against his chest. The mage didn't struggle within his grasp; rather his body sat rigid, eyes glaring at the arm keeping him still. Ike reached with his foot and kicked the tome over the edge of the staircase, waiting several moments for it to hit the ground below.

"Try as you might to kill me. Ashera will see me restored," Soren proclaimed, voice strong. "She is nothing like you fools. She has the power to perform miracles."

"I'm not _going_ to kill you," Ike said before he pushed back with his arm. Soren's fingers scratched at it, fighting for air. The sound of his hitched breath caused the burning feeling to return anew. It felt like he was killing him, even though his arm had removed itself from his throat long before he suffocated.

Soren slumped against his chest, hair brushing his cheek.

"I'm so sorry," he said as he rested him against the marble with all the tenderness he could muster. "I truly am."

* * *

Ashera was slain.

It was a difficult battle, but they had succeeded. The world was saved from certain destruction. His companions cheered for their success.

But Ike had a single question on his mind.

"Yune. One last thing."

"Yes?"

"Is it possible to resurrect someone, with soul still attached. Not just their body."

"Hmm… Why? Are you asking for that boy who was always with you?"

"…Yeah."

Yune looked contemplative, watching as what remained of her sister floated up to the ceiling. "I don't know… It is not something I can do, anyway. Souls are complicated and easily broken. When they pass on it's near impossible to get them back."

"I see."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. It was a long-shot."

Yune nodded mournfully, resting a hand upon his shoulder. Then she evaporated; rearranging to form a small orange bird that floated out of the window to embrace the world with their victory.

Ike sighed.

Soren's body remained on the steps where Ike had left him but his breathing had halted. Ike supposed that as Ashera had died, Soren new life force had vanished with her. Sliding arms beneath his form, Ike hefted the boy up and carried him down the steps.

* * *

One of the first things Ike did was cremate him, which he prepared alone surrounded by the woodland.

Borrowing Boyd's axe, he chopped down several trees, building a small pyre. When that was done, he wrapped Soren in a white blanket, resting him upon the wood before setting it alight.

Smoke clogged his throat as it burned.

"I hope this is enough," Ike said as the glow of evening spilled through the trees.

For the first time in years he felt the sting of tears glaze across his eyes. Ike didn't sob nor did he force the feeling down yet again. He let his tears trail down his cheeks in silence. For only the both of them to witness.

He had earned the time to mourn, now.

* * *

_Epilogue_

At the age of age of fifty-eight, Ike passed away upon a medical bed. He died as simply Ike - a weary traveller who had spent his life scouring the continent. Tellius and his actions there were a distant memory in the days before his death. Yet, the people he met there had remained clear in his mind.

His lung having failed him as he'd slept, he was dead in mere minutes. It was the most peaceful way possible to go, the healer who had tended him thought.

Ike blinked past his bleary vision and spied the mercenary fort, free from decay and rot. The sun shone through the trees, the branches casting long shadows across the grass. He didn't have time to consider it too much when someone approached him from the corner of his eye.

Ike smiled.

"Hello, Ike. Long time, no see."

He laughed. "It has been a long time, indeed, Soren."

Wise crimson eyes helped him to his feet, their bodies somehow retaining the look of their youth. Ike didn't question it. Soren's eyes lingered on his face, a smile spreading across his lips. "Come on. There are some people you probably want to meet again."

"Lead the way."

And so Soren led them towards the fort and it was like no time had passed at all.


End file.
